Can't Do It Alone
by IAmGlitterati
Summary: Kurt gets slammed into a locker, sustaining a head injury. The only one to know what to do, however, is the last one the Glee Club would expect to help.  I need to get better at writing summaries...
1. Chapter 1

**This was written around midnight. In under ten minutes. So there's a high chance it sucks. If you still want to read, be my guest...but you have been warned. **

Kurt steadied himself in front of the mirror in the girl's bathroom, carefully parting the meticulously styled hair on the side of his head. _Shit. _He winced as he caught a glimpse of lines of drying blood from the impact of his head on the sharp edge of the locker door. He turned on the faucet and let the water flow over his fingers, which he then raised to his head, trying to gently wash away the blood that stuck to his hair. Unfortunately, the prodding of his fingers only served to re-open the cuts, and he pressed a paper towel against them, cursing under his breath. _Damnit, Karofsky._

His phone buzzed with an incoming text suddenly. His fingers scrabbled to open it without knocking it into the sink, and he found himself praying it wasn't another threat like the ones that were becoming more and more frequent. He looked down at the glowing screen, and breathed out a sigh of relief. _Thank god. _It was just a message from Mercedes, informing him that he was late for glee. He tapped out a reply, promising to be at the choir room soon. He gave a last glance in the mirror, smoothing his hair down, once more covering the cuts, before shouldering his bag and heading down the hallway for Glee.

_He had been standing at his locker, fixing his Dolce and Gabbana tie, when it happened. The set of footsteps coming up behind him should have warned him. But he hadn't noticed them, until their hands were on his shoulders, sending him slamming backwards into the edge of the locker door. His head rebounded off sickeningly and spots filled his vision momentarily. The two jocks were already far down the hallway, laughing and high-fiving._

_

* * *

_

"Sorry I was late, Mr. Schue," Kurt murmured, slipping into the choir room, hoping that his head had stopped bleeding since he left the bathroom.

The teacher waved him off with a swift movement of the hand. "It's fine, Kurt. Now-" He clapped his hands together, "I have a great song for you guys to sing thought out!"

"More Journey," Mercedes muttered to Tina.

"Nope." Mr Schue looked genuinely proud of himself. "Thriller!"

There was a general outburst of mixed feelings amongst the group of teenagers. Mike immediately jumped to his feet, cheering, and swept Tina into a tight hug, whereas Rachel frowned, contemplating the idea that the song involved no female lead for her to sing. Kurt groaned inwardly and slouched down in his seat, trying to ignore the painful throbbing of a headache that had started to creep up on him. Dancing. With a headache. Just perfect.

Mr. Schue smiled, but motioned for Mike and Tina to sit down. "Okay, okay, that's not all the news. I figured who better to teach the dancing then…our very own Mike Chang!"

Scattered applause broke out as Mike leaped down to the center of the room. "Everybody up!" He yelped excitedly, tapping his foot impatiently as people rose from their seats.

Kurt felt fatigue pulling down on him as he stumbled through the motions, and he kept blinking sporadically, attempting to free his mind from the numbing fog forcing itself upon him. His world spun slightly, and he stumbled into Tina, who gave a small shout as she caught both him and herself, keeping them from hitting the floor.

The music stopped. "Kurt? Tina? Are you okay?" Mr. Schue asked.

Tina nodded immediately, and much of the attention turned to Kurt. "Kurt?" Mr. Schue asked gently.

"Yes," Kurt proclaimed hurriedly, fixing his coat.

"You sure? You're looking a little off your game." Mr. Schue pressed.

"I'm fine." Kurt dismissed the attention with a wave of his hand.

The music began again, and Kurt attempted to focus his mind completely on the task. However, this attempt was marred by the feel of something wet on the back of his head. He glanced to make sure that no one was looking, then cautiously pressed a hand against where the cuts were. When he pulled it away, scarlet beads of blood danced on his fingertips. _Shit. _The blackness, which had been threatening him for so long, finally closed in on him, and he felt the side of his face collide with hard tiling before the blessed nothingness overtook him.

"Kurt!" The entire glee club turned around at Tina's scream and the loud thunk of a head connecting with the floor.

"All right guys, move back, give him some space." Mr. Schue implored, gently pushing back. "Kurt?" He murmured. "Kurt, can you hear me?" The teacher slid a hand under the boy's head, then pulled it back, and the Glee Club cringed collectively as they saw the rusty red substance staining his shirt where Kurt's head had lay.

"As the daughter of a well-respected doctor, I feel it is in my place to suggest we call for an ambulance if he doesn't wake up soon," Rachel announced, but her voice lacked its usual bravado.

"What happened?" Artie ventured to ask.

"It's like in football when people start sleeping standing up and then they fall over and freak out…" Brittany commented quietly, wrapping a blonde curl around her finger. Everybody looked to her.

"What did you say?" Asked Mr. Schue.

"I said, 'It's like in foot-"

"We got it, Britt, thanks," Quinn interjected, glancing meaningfully at the football players, who glanced among themselves.

"Concussion." It was Puck that supplied the answer. When the Glee club looked at him, he shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's what Brittany's talking about. It's what's probably wrong with Hummel."

"How would _he _get a concussion?" Santana asked critically.

A low moan rose from the crumpled form on the floor, and Kurt's eyes slowly blinked open. "Kurt?" Mr. Schue ventured. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt blinked, confusion evident in his green-blue eyes. "…tired…" He murmured, blinking rapidly.

"Like the football players," Brittany whispered.

"Puck?"

"Hm?" Puck looked up as Mr. Schue spoke his name.

"I'm guessing you know how to recognize a concussion?"

"Yeah…" Puck scratched the back of his head, then sighed. "Fine." He knelt beside the fallen teen, peering into his eyes. "Oh. Yeah. Hummel, dude, I wouldn't go to sleep if I were you."

"….but…mm…tired.." Kurt tried to protest, his words slurring as his eyes drifted shut again.

Puck snapped his fingers in front of the other boys face. "Wake up!"

Kurt struggled to open his eyes, eventually succeeding.

"How'd you get the cuts on your head?" The taller teen asked, desperately searching for a conversation to keep the other awake.

"…locker…"

Puck looked down at Kurt, bemused. "How do you cut open your head and get a concussion from a locker?"

"…you should…know…" Kurt's eyes fluttered shut again, and Puck wasted no time in snapping his fingers once more.

"Oh." Puck tried to brush away the feeling of lingering guilt. "But who did it this time?"

"….Karofsky…" The boy gave a shuddering groan and closed his eyes, his voice trailing off.

"Kurt?" Puck asked, shedding the use of the other's surname. "Kurt?"

The sirens in the distance grew louder, even as the uncomfortable, stressful silence of the choir room grew until an explosion of sound became inevitable. The sound came in the form of the paramedics bursting into the room, a flurry of activity happening around the fallen Glee Clubber.

"Puck?"

The teen turned to face his teacher. "Hm?"

"You want to ride in the ambulance with him?"  
Puck shook his head. "Nah."

Mr. Schue gave him a look of disapproval, a look that showed his displeasure in Puck's apparent lack of interest in the welfare of his glee mate.

_If only he knew. _Puck gave a grim smile as he curled his hands into fists, stalking out of the choir room. Karofsky better pray to whatever barbaric deity he worshiped, because, juvie or no juvie, Noah Puckerman would be paying him a visit.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt glanced up from the copy of Vogue he was currently thumbing through. "Puckerman?" He asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Chill, Hummel…I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Clearly, I am." Puck detected a faint hint of sarcasm in the other boy's voice.

"Which is why you're in a hospital."

Kurt slammed the Vogue down on the table. "Puckerman…" he growled in a strangely deep register.

Puck gave him an odd look. "Damn, your voice can go low."

"Shut up." Kurt crossed his arms huffily. "But seriously, why did you come here?"

Puck shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "I told you, I wanted to make sure you're okay…I mean, you know, we're not really that close, but still…you're in Glee, so you're my sort of my friend…right?"

"…right. Sure. Whatever you want." Kurt warily unfolded his arms.

"So, if you're alright, why are you still here?"

"They want to monitor me overnight."

"That sucks. I hate hospitals."

When Kurt next spoke, it was eerily quiet. "Me too."

Puck looked at him questioningly, but the smaller teen didn't elaborate. "When I was younger, eleven or something," Puck began, shuffling his feet awkwardly, "my sister got pneumonia. It was really bad, and we didn't have much money. My mom was still missing my dad, and she couldn't hold a steady job. Still, it got bad enough that we had to bring my sister here, to the hospital. They took care of her for the first couple of nights." Puck noted that Kurt was leaning forward slightly, listening to the story, and continued on. "Then, they started asking for the money for everything…the treatment, the medicine, the bed she was in. And…like I said, this was back when we were really short on cash. My mom told them she couldn't pay."

"So what happened?"

"They just threw us out. My sister was still sick, but they threw us out anyway. I mean, sure, she got better, but really slowly." Puck leaned against the wall, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's and shrugged once more. "So why do you hate hospitals?" He questioned, expecting the generic 'I just do' answer.

"My mom died here." The answer was quiet, and Puck immediately felt a cold aura permeate the air of the room.

Keeping his eyes trained on Kurt, he made his way over to the cracked plastic chair next to the bed. "How'd she die?" He asked, his voice unnaturally gentle.

"Cancer." Kurt blinked rapidly, and Puck realized with dread that he was fighting back tears. Maybe talking about this was a mistake.

"Sorry." He muttered, not sure what else to say.

"It's fine, its not like its your fault in any way." Kurt discreetly wiped a hand across his face to dry his eyes. Just as Puck was sure he wasn't going to talk anymore, he began to speak again, his voice, as quiet as it was, filling the tiny hospital room. "It's just…it's really the worst way to die, isn't it? Sure, she had a chance to say her goodbyes, get things in order, but in all reality, all that time, she was suffering, and we all _knew_ she was going to die." Kurt's eyes met Puck's briefly, then he looked away again. "I know it's not much better, but sometimes I wish she had died in a car crash, or something like that, instead. There's not so much waiting, waiting for something you don't want. It's quick, easy. Just a second of pain, but up until the end you have a real chance at being happy." Kurt glanced back up at Puck. "Does wishing it had happened that way make me a bad person?" He asked quietly.

Puck shook his head. "Nah. It makes sense." He remained silent another moment, as Kurt tried to wipe away more tears. "You really miss her, don't you?"

"Oh, no. My own mother? Hardly, Puckerman." Puck almost grinned in relief that the sarcastic, biting Kurt was back, dispelling the awkward, tense atmosphere.

"Well…don't worry, you won't be missing me at all tonight."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Cryptic statement you got there."

"Dude, it means I'm keeping you company."

"Why me?" Kurt muttered, raising his arms to the sky in a gesture of mock prayer.

"Because you're lucky," Puck smirked.

"Don't you have homework to do or something? I mean, I know you're _Puck_ and you don't really _do_ homework, but aren't you trying to actually _pass_ classes so you don't go back to juvie?" Kurt questioned.

"Um, yeah, about that…" Puck raised a hand to run through his mohawk. "I'm sort of suspended until further notice."

"_What?_" Kurt sat up suddenly, sending the copy of Vogue crashing to the ground. "How did you manage that this time?"

"…I sort of might have beaten up Karofsky."

Kurt gaped at him. "When?"

"Right after the paramedics took you away."

"Why?"

Puck smirked. "Nobody messes with my teammates, right?" He reached down, picking the Vogue up off the floor and tossing it back onto the bed.

Kurt let a small smile grace his face. "Right." He settled back onto the fluffy pillows behind him. "Thanks."

_Puck raced through the halls, searching desperately for the glimpse of a letterman jacket. He skidded into the locker room, a feral smirk growing on his face as he saw his target. "Karofsky!" He bellowed._

_ "Puckerman, what the hell?" Karofsky barely had time to finish his sentence before Puck's fist smashed into his face. Karofsky stumbled back, cupping a hand to his nose. "Dude, what's your problem!" His voice was thick from the blood that came dripping from his nose._

_ "You need to stay away from Kurt?"_

_ "The little fairy freak?"_

_ Karofsky let out a half moan, half shout as Puck's fist collided with his face once again. Puck gathered a fistful of Karofsky's shirt, dragging him closer. He forced the other jock to look him in the eye. "Don't call him that," he breathed, a fist raised threateningly. He released Karofsky, who stumbled back, a hand still clasped over his bleeding nose. _

_ Puck turned to leave, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, when he heard a shuffling noise behind him. He swirled around just in time, shoulder-checking the meaty jock into a locker. "Remember, stay away from Kurt," he spat, slamming the locker room door behind him as he left. _

_ He didn't care that he could hear Coach Beiste coming out of her office, heading for the bleeding jock leaning against the lockers. It had been worth it._

Puck smirked at the boy in the bed. "Anytime, man."


End file.
